I sit in the corner;
and scratch me nuts.
pull at my pecker
and dream of leaving,
Of finally leaving this room...
I dream of the girl next door,
The mum down the road,granny at the milk bar.
Oh Lord!
Why won't you let my dreams come true?
The towel on my lap is
sticky and a mess;
My keyboard has lapsed into
Un-usefulness.
Oh Lord!
Everyone else is getting what I can't get.
The pipe is full and crackling
The smoke fills me lungs
And straight to me head it goes.
I have my freedom
But I don't have much time.
Oh Lord!
If I can't get a root
Surely it can't be my fault this time.
Herr Fuckhead
Lost-in-a-wilderness-of-pain, 2007.
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Comments (3)
Unregistered
said:
 |
Herr Fudgeknuckle, even though your masterpiece of heart-felt despair reduced me to a deeper state of idiocy, I think it lacks a certain gloss on its pathos. I think it lacks disfiguring disease. How about some added leprosy or dick-rot? Surely that would provide an enhanced lyrical scope on your poetic landscape. Poetry Poseur and Helpful Critic |
Lonely, lost, and limp
said:
|
This guy understands pain! The mental anguish of watching the girls go by... |
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